Internal Conflicts
by DragonGirl787
Summary: I always loved RedMist's character; struggling with his aspirations and dreams of being a superhero and making his drug lord father proud of him. I loved the idea of his conflict and so wanted to explore this in a short story.  Feedback is welcome!


Internal Conflicts : Kick Ass 

The night was dark and crisp, skyscrapers glinted against the sky like glass knives. The streets were filled with the clamour of cars; people clubbing, laughing, shouting, screaming, fighting, dying. A flash of red bolted against the ominous jet black of the encroaching night. A figure dressed in an outfit of red and black leather, cape and a belt with a large brash buckle with a bold letter M, leapt confidently from the roof of one building to another. An expression of excitement flashed across his face. A mask obscuring his eyes. The excitement quickly turned to shock as he landed heavily and had to roll to prevent his legs from snapping under the impact. He clenched his fists and curled up protectively. "Awwww, sh*t! That f***ing kills!" he hissed through the pain. The two figures in front stopped and turned towards the commotion. A wide mocking grin spread across Kick-Ass' face and turned into a crippling laugh. Hit-Girl gave a frustrated sigh, "your useless." Red Mist looked up and glared at her, biting back insults. He knew she could kill him easily if she wanted. She fingered her double bladed staff impatiently, "come on, we need to take out the next guy, the next link in the chain." Kick-Ass shuddered at the thought and held out a hand to Red Mist who took it without objection. He winced slightly as he put weight on his leg again, but gave a nod for the others to continue. Hit-Girl stormed ahead, running agilely across the vast metropolis jungle. Kick-Ass and red Mist could barely keep up, swearing profusely as they stumbled after her. "How the hell did you manage to catch that dealer?" Kick-Ass gasped as they raced over the rooftops, "you don't seem to be doing particularly good at anything!" he said in a half grin. Fear constricted Red Mist's senses, he hadn't much time. They'd find out soon and he'd blow his chance to prove himself to his father. Or, he'd destroy his dreams. Whatever the option, he was caged between two evils. Both involving a harsh betrayal. They stopped to catch their breath, Hit Girl lingering in the outskirts of their vision. Kick-Ass gave him a quizzical look. Red Mist shrugged, "you obviously have underestimated how awesome I am." Speaking with mock cockiness, hoping the bravado would mask his fear and his cover up. A bead of sweat trickled sluggishly down his cheek. Kick-Ass laughed naively and continued after Hit-Girl's miniature silhouette. The fear in Red Mist's chest lessened a little but left a hollow feeling. He quickly followed after them. Hit-Girl suddenly stopped her relentless dash through the darkness and crouched at the edge of a crumbling ledge overlooking a bustling avenue full of drunks and taxis, so far away their lights were mere specks. Hit-Girl peered over the edge and into the window beneath. "He's there." She whispered excitedly. "We've got him." She gave a cruel grin and the blades slung across her back glowed with a malicious blood lust. "I'll go in first, keep watch then wait for my signal to follow." They nodded and watched her athletic form slide silently into the window below them. The latch clicked and they heard the screech of a neglected frame grating open. Both Kick-Ass and Red Mist winced at the piercing sound. A rush of adrenaline mingling with excitement shivered down Red Mist's spine. He was living every persons dream. He was fighting crime. A superhero. Images of his fathers cold, steely gaze flickered uncertainly in his mind. He remembered what he had to do. It wasn't heroic in the slightest. He felt his coveted dreams disintegrate and scatter in the wind. The gun at his hip suddenly felt heavier. He was pulled back to reality as he saw Hit-Girls glow-stick signalling their entry. They dropped clumsily through the window. The room stank distinctly of weed and was coated in filth.

The only other objects apart from the many crates of drugs were a sad looking armchair and a large TV that blurted out random channels at full volume. A dark shape was slumped in the chair oblivious to their presence, a gun gripped firmly in both hands. Their objective would be simple if he continued to stupidly watch TV and have no back up. Hit-Girl gestured for silence and crept up to the back of the chair, butterfly knife held comfortably and professionally in her hand. The man never stood a chance as the knife bit easily into the jugular vein in his neck. Kick-Ass and Red Mist retched as a sickening gurgle escaped the man's lips, his eyes bulging. Blood spurted uncontrollably from his wound painting the walls a dark crimson. His eyes turned glassy and his body finally went limp. Satisfied, Hit-Girl began to search the rest of the flat, leaving them to recover from the murder they had just witnessed.

Red Mist's mind was in turmoil. That was one of his Dad's men. What was his name…..Stu? He fought the urge to vomit. He couldn't sit on the fence any longer, those in the middle usually got caught in the cross fire. And died. Fear was like a lancing pain as sharp as Hit-Girl's blades. He felt for the gun that burnt at his hip. To continue his Dad's legacy and become powerful, feared, invincible, evil. Or follow Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl; the constant desire to be a hero, to do something right and be remembered. His fingers curled around the metal device, it seemed to burn his hand. Everyone wants to be a hero….. but do people deserve to be saved? Aren't they just selfish monsters with self inflicted pain? Inside his mind a voice gave a maniacal laugh, but isn't that you Chris? The voice said tauntingly. Don't you want the world? Your father's approval? To be adored? He shut his eyes against the onslaught of cynical voices. Kick-Ass looked at him in confusion. Red Mist's eyes violently flew open and held a hint of madness. He swiftly drew his gun and aimed with a practice hand. Weren't the villains the best characters anyway?

By Rebecca Smith

21st January 2011


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